Claimed By The Black Daggers MC

Sable

“Whoever put a beer on my donation list has five seconds to move it before I make him wear the Mrs. Claus costume.”

Three Black Daggers looked at the bottle sweating onto my paperwork. Not one of them reached for it. The clubhouse was packed for a Wednesday afternoon, with music rattling the glasses behind the bar, two brothers arguing over a pool shot, and a prospect dragging in boxes he’d apparently forgotten to unload yesterday. I’d claimed the biggest table in the room to organize our Christmas toy run, which meant everybody had decided it was the perfect place to set their drinks.

“I’m serious,” I warned.

Smitty rescued the bottle, taking a long swallow before he moved it. “You threatening patched members now, Sable?”

“Only the ones who can’t read the sign that says KEEP YOUR SHIT OFF MY TABLE.”

“That’s handwritten,” he pointed out.

“And yet you still can’t follow it.”

His laughter followed him toward the pool table. I wiped the damp ring off my list and checked the numbers again. We had three weeks to collect enough toys for the families signed up through our community partners, and half the brothers who’d volunteered to help seemed to believe volunteering meant telling somebody else to do the work.

My husbands weren’t helping either. Jarek, the club president, had taken one look at my color-coded assignments and declared himself unavailable for manual labor. Marcus, his vice president and our other husband, had laughed until I reminded him that driving the delivery truck was his responsibility.

At least they knew better than to touch my paperwork.

Or so I thought, until Jarek came up behind me and plucked a peppermint from the bowl beside my laptop. He kissed the side of my head before I could smack his hand.

“Need anything, Kitty?” he asked.

“Twenty men who know the difference between a donation box and a trash can.”

“Can’t promise you that.”

Marcus appeared at his shoulder, studying the lists with the same wary expression he wore when he suspected Jarek had volunteered him for something. “Why is my name next to six a.m.?”

“Because that’s when we’re loading the truck, baby.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Then consider it punishment for marrying me.”

Jarek grinned at him. “I told you she was going to cost us.”

“You married her too,” Marcus reminded him, catching Jarek by the belt as they headed toward the office.

“Yeah, and I’d do it again.”

“Those boxes go by the kitchen!” I called to the prospect hauling donations past the bar. He reversed direction so fast he nearly collided with the door.

“Jesus, woman. You run this place louder than the president,” somebody said.

“Unlike the president, I have a schedule.”

The front door opened before anybody could argue. A blonde stepped inside, hesitated, and searched the crowded room. I recognized her before she spotted me, though it had been years since I’d seen her face.

Tori.

Well, that was an unwelcome little surprise.

She used to spend plenty of time here, and quite a bit of it in Jarek’s bed before he and I got together. When that ended, she’d accepted it and stayed gone. I could respect that much about her, even if I wasn’t exactly interested in reminiscing about my husband’s former hookups.

A couple of the older brothers called hello. Tori managed a smile, but she kept scanning the room as though she was looking for somebody. I was debating whether to ignore her when Travis slid into her path at the bar.

Travis wasn’t a prospect or a member. He was a regular hanger-on who had mistaken drinking beside patched men for earning a place among them.

“Damn, Tori. Where’ve you been hiding?” he asked, grinning. “Come keep me company tonight.”

“No, thanks, Travis.” She shifted toward the open end of the bar.

He moved with her. “What, you got a boyfriend now?”

“I’m not interested.”

His grin turned ugly. “Since when? You weren’t so picky when you were screwing half the brothers in here.”

The pool balls cracked somewhere behind me. Tori’s face went stiff, and Travis leaned closer, apparently encouraged by the attention he’d attracted.

“Don’t act like you’re too good for me. Everybody knows what kind of girl you were.”

I closed my laptop and stood. “Travis. Move.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Relax, Sable. I’m talking to an old friend.”

“Then you should’ve heard her when she said she wasn’t interested.”

“Jesus. It’s a joke.”

“Funny. Nobody’s laughing.”

He gestured toward Tori. “You know how many guys she’s been with? I don’t see why she has to make a big deal out of me asking.”

I walked up until he had to turn to face me. “She could’ve fucked every man in this clubhouse and it still wouldn’t give you the right to demand a damn thing from her. She told you no. Conversation’s over.”

His cheeks reddened. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“Apparently I do, because you still haven’t moved.” I pointed toward the entrance. “Out.”

He laughed once, looking past me for support. A patched brother at the pool table set down his cue and watched him without smiling. Travis finally seemed to remember whose clubhouse he was standing in.

“You’re kicking me out over her?” he demanded.

“I’m kicking you out because you can’t behave yourself. Go.”

He shoved past us, muttering under his breath. The door slammed behind him hard enough to interrupt the music for half a beat. Nobody followed him, and within seconds the room returned to its usual chaos.

Tori was watching me like I’d done something incomprehensible.

“What?” I asked.

“I didn’t think you’d take my side.”

“I wasn’t taking sides. He was being an asshole.” I picked a damp receipt off the bar where somebody had left it. “You said no. That’s the end of it.”

“Still. Thank you.”

“Don’t make a thing out of it.” I glanced at the entrance. “And before you get comfortable, this doesn’t mean we’re friends or that I’ve forgotten our history.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Her mouth curved faintly. “I know I’m not your favorite person.”

“You’re not even in my top fifty.”

That got a real laugh out of her, brief as it was. But it vanished when she looked over my shoulder at the men drinking near the pool table. She held her purse close to her ribs, fingers worrying the strap until the leather twisted.

Something was wrong. Whatever she’d come here for, it wasn’t to catch up with the boys.

I nodded toward the door. “If you’re looking for Jarek, save yourself the trip. He’s married. Very married.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?”

Tori glanced around once more, lowered her voice, and said, “I didn’t come to see Jarek, Sable. I came to see you.”